Tommy finally stopped the staring and leaned forward. He clasped his manicured fingers together and spread his legs apart. “We’re either going to kill you slow,” he said, “or we’re going to kill you fast. Or, who knows, you might live. It all depends on what you have to tell me.”
“May I ask a question?” Trevor asked.
Tommy didn’t respond.
“What, exactly, am I being accused of? Why have I been kidnapped and flown all this way?”
“What were you doing in Vegas?” Tommy asked.
Trevor smiled. “A man can’t enjoy a vacation?”
“Without his woman?” Tommy asked. “And she is your woman, right? Carly? Carly Sinatra? The woman those guys you’re running with just shot?”
Trevor’s heart fell through his shoe and he leaped from his seat. But Mick’s men trained their guns on him and Tommy jumped up and slammed him back down in the seat.
“What are you talking about?” Trevor asked, his heart pounding. “Somebody shot her? What are you talking about, man?”
Tommy hadn’t expected this reaction. But he had to use it. “Who are you working for?”
“What about Carly?” Trevor yelled. “What happened to her?”
“Somebody shot her,” Tommy said.
Trevor couldn’t believe it. He was even shaking his head. “But where is she? Take me to her! She’s here? She’s in Jericho?”
Tommy didn’t answer any of his questions. “Who do you work for?” he asked him again.
“Take me to her,” he insisted. “I’ll tell you everything you need to know. Just take me to Carly!”
“Yeah, I’ll take you to her,” Tommy said, still standing over him. “I’ll take you.” Then Tommy pulled out his own revolver and put it beneath Trevor’s chin. “Now you answer my question, motherfucker,” he said. “Who do you work for?”
But this time Trevor knew he had no leverage. He needed to see Carly. He needed to see for himself that she was alright. “Giuseppe,” he said. “Mario Giuseppe.”
Tommy frowned. He’d never heard of him before, and he knew all of the families. “Who the fuck is that?” he asked.
Trevor hesitated. Tommy pushed the revolver harder beneath his chin. And Trevor caved. “C.I.A.,” he said.
Tommy’s handsome face went hard. And he removed his revolver.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Charles was flooring his Jaguar, breaking every conceivable speeding record, as Mick was on his cellphone calling in men for backup, as Sal was calling in men for backup, and as Reno called in backup too. They thought they could handle this easily. Reese had a kill list and the threat, Reese, was neutralized and in their custody. But they were wrong. If what that officer said was accurate, they could not have been more wrong!
Charles and Jenay could hear sirens as they drove closer to their estate. Charles, unable to think straight, grabbed Jenay’s hand and held it as tightly as he could. He knew she was in a state that had to rival his. He knew she was on the verge of a breakdown too.
But when Charles arrived at their home, and the police cars and ambulances clogged up their street and driveway, everything changed. Charles and Jenay were the first to get out of the car, and Charles hurried to his wife and took her hand. And then suddenly, everything that had been so fast became too slow. They walked as if they were walking in slow motion. Because they couldn’t believe it. Because they didn’t want to believe it!
Mick, Sal, and Reno were walking slowly too, looking at the police cars, checking inside of the empty ambulances. They were men of stone when they had to be, but even their hearts were pounding.
And when a stretcher came out of the house, and they saw Brent lying on it, everybody stopped all movement. To see strong Brent lying out like that! Charles clasped Jenay’s hand tighter as the stretcher came their way. And then Charles and Jenay couldn’t take it. They hurried to their son.
“Brent, you’re going to be okay, baby,” Jenay began saying. “You’re going to be just fine.”
They had an oxygen mask on him. They were still wrapping bandages around him. And Brent wasn’t even conscious. The blood the paramedics were still trying to staunch made Charles know just how serious his condition was. But he wasn’t about to give up on his firstborn. “Brent,” Charles said, trying to stay with the paramedics. “Brent, you’ll be okay. Listen to Jenay. She knows these things, son.”
But a female paramedic moved in between them. “Give us room, folks,” she said as she escorted the stretcher to the waiting ambulance. “Sir, madam, give us room!”
“That’s our son,” Jenay said, barely able to stand up, and Charles placed his arm around her waist. “That’s our son.”
“I know, Mrs. Sinatra,” the paramedic said. Charles and Jenay didn’t know her, never seen her before in their lives, but she, like most of the people in that town, knew them. “We have to get him to the hospital, and we still have prep to do. You folks can see him at the hospital.”
And with that they flung Brent’s stretcher into the ambulance, and jumped onboard themselves to continue to work on him.
Robert Sinatra ran out of the house just as Brent was being loaded into the ambulance. When he saw his parents, he ran down the steps toward them and nearly collapsed in his father’s arms.
“Everybody okay?” Charles asked as he held his son. “Is everybody else okay?”
But by the look on Robert’s face, they all knew they weren’t. Mick, devastated, broke away from the crowd, and ran into the house.
“What is it, Robert?” Reno asked with a frown on his face. “What happened here, man?”
Robert stood up straight again, but continued to hold onto his father’s arm. “It was, they hit . . . they were.”
“Slow down, son,” Charles said.
“It was awful,” Robert finally said. “It’s awful, Dad.”
“Who else?” Charles asked. “Tell me who else was hit?”
But before he could say another word, another stretcher came swiftly out of the house. When Charles and Jenay saw that Carly was on the stretcher, and that she had been hit, they both nearly lost it.
“Lord, no,” Charles said, hurrying toward her. “Lord, no!”
But it was true. First his firstborn child, and now the child closest to him in this world was down too. Charles and Jenay ran to Carly’s stretcher. They ran to her side. They began walking with the stretcher, with Jenay taking her hand. But Charles knew there was more damage. He could feel it in his bones. He looked back, at Reno and Sal, and Reno immediately understood what his face was telling them. Charles and Jenay couldn’t leave. They had to make sure the rest of their family was okay. But his eyes told the story: somebody had to go to that hospital with his children.
“I’ll go,” Reno said, thinking how he would have felt if it had been his kids. “I’ll stay with Carly and Brent, Big Daddy. You take care of home.”
“Thank you,” Charles said, and Reno hurried to follow Carly’s stretcher.
“Sir,” the paramedic started to say, to remind Reno that he needed to give them room. But Reno shut it down.
“I’m her uncle,” he said, “and I’m riding in that wagon with her. You got a problem with that?”
The seriousness on Reno’s face, and the fact that they were dealing with the powerful Sinatra family, made the paramedic back down. And Reno hopped in the ambulance right alongside Carly. Brent’s ambulance took off. Carly’s was right behind him.
Robert was still trying to explain what happened, but the words wouldn’t come. He was too overcome with grief. Jenay wrapped her arm around his waist, and he leaned against her. And they made their way toward the house. Sal, distraught too, walked behind them, looking around, as if he was their bodyguard.
When they made it inside the house, and saw the blood, and the dead gunmen, their hearts felt faint. Could it possibly get any worse? Mick had his cellphone out and was walking around taking pictures of the downed gunmen as if this was some photo shoot. But Sal unde
rstood why. They needed to find out who those fuckers worked for, and they needed to know asap. Mick was all about business at a time like this, but he wasn’t fooling Sal. Sal could see the devastation, the anger and pain, all over Mick’s stern face.
But Charles and Jenay didn’t even notice Mick. Because they saw across the room, near the entrance into the hallway, their son Tony and their daughter Ashley knelt down at a stretcher. Ashley was on her knees crying, Tony was on his knees praying unceasingly, and the paramedics were working urgently on somebody. They couldn’t see who it was from where they stood, but as they walked closer, and Charles saw that it was his youngest son Donald they were working on, as if he was in the worse shape of them all, he broke away from Jenay and ran to his son.
“Daddy!” Ashley said when she saw him, got up, and ran to Charles. Charles, thrilled to be able to hold another one of his children, pulled her tightly into his arms. “Thank God,” he said as he held her, closing his eyes. “Thank God.”
But then he opened them, and looked at Donald.
“He was shielding me,” Ashley cried. “He took those bullets for me!”
Jenay rubbed her back, and Ashley broke away from Charles’s embrace to fall into her mother’s embrace. Charles then fell on his knees at Donald’s stretcher. Tony kept praying, and the paramedics kept working feverishly, and their actions told Charles all he needed to know. He was in the way, and he knew that too, but Donnie was his baby boy. His most troubled child. Charles didn’t think he could take another blow.
And after they continued to work on Donald before they could even move his body, Big Daddy stopped and look around. He saw the blood. He saw the dead bodies of the gunmen all over his house. His home, his castle, looked like a war zone. As if they were at war. And Charles decided, right then and there, that they were. Gone was his speechifying. Gone was his complaints to Mick and his nephews that they were too gangster. After what they did to his children, after what they tried to do to his wife, Big Daddy was about to get gangster too.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Carly Sinatra dozed off intermittently as her family sat around her private hospital room. Jenay was there, lying on the bed beside Carly, intermittently dozing too. Tony, Ashley, and Robert were there, with all three sitting together on the couch provided by the hospital. Mick, Sal, and Reno were still there, leaned against the wall, occasionally talking amongst themselves, but mostly just quietly fuming over what had just transpired.
Charles was there too, standing alone in the back of the room, barely able to control his own rage.
This was the worse day of his life, bar none. Not even witnessing his father kill his mother could compare. Because they went after his children. They took down his children! Carly was the luckiest one, she was only grazed by a bullet. But Brent was still in surgery, and Donald was still in surgery, and the doctors were telling him that it didn’t look good for Donald even before they operated. When Jenay heard those words, she nearly fainted. It was Charles who put her in bed with Carly, and made her get some rest.
But she was sleeping so lightly that when the door to Carly’s room was opened, and one of the surgeons walked in, she was awake once again.
She sat upright and everybody looked at the surgeon as he removed his scrub cap and raked his fingers through his hair. He directed his every word toward Charles and Jenay, looking from one to the other one, as he spoke.
“Chief Sinatra is out of surgery,” he said. Brent was no longer chief of police, Robert now held that position, but everybody in town treated Brent as if he was still the boss. “The surgery was successful.”
“Which means?” Charles asked, even as everybody else relaxed. But Charles wasn’t relaxed.
“It means, sir,” the surgeon said, “that we were able to remove the bullet, we were able to control the bleeding, we were successful. Fortunately, the bullet did not do nearly the damage it could have done. Will he have a long recovery? Yes. It’ll take some time before he’s back one hundred percent. But will he come roaring back to be the Chief we all know and respect? Yes. I believe he will.”
“Thank God,” Jenay said and Charles, for the first time, was able to at least let out a sigh of relief. “When can we see him?”
“Not for several hours,” the surgeon said. “He’s still under heavy sedation.”
“But he’s going to make it,” Jenay said. “Thank God for that.”
They all agreed. Charles did too. Brent was out of the woods, and he was grateful for that. But . . . “What about my baby boy?” Charles asked the doctor. “What about Donald?”
The surgeon hesitated, which they knew wasn’t good. Reno and Sal even glanced at each other. “Donald is still in surgery,” the doctor said.
“Will he pull through too?” Jenay asked bluntly, and they all looked at the doctor.
“I cannot say at this point. The surgeons are doing all they can for him.”
“But?” Charles asked.
“But he’s going to have a long night,” the surgeon admitted. “Let’s just put it that way.” He then told them he would keep them posted, and left the room.
Jenay lifted her legs and laid her forehead on her knees when he left the room. She was pleased that Brent would be okay. But she was still worried sick about Donald. And Charles, she thought, as she looked over at her husband. He looked devastated. He looked like a shell of the man he used to be.
“What about Donnie’s girlfriend?” Sal asked. “Has she been notified?”
“Does he even have anyone?” Reno asked. “Was he dating a girl?”
“He was dating many girls,” Charles said. “Which means he has no one.”
Mick looked at his brother when he made that pronouncement. Donald gave Charles more problems than all of his children combined. All of them! But he loved that boy dearly, and with unconditional love. Mick became a strong man and leader because of the example of his big brother Charles. Although Mick was a failure as a father to his own grown children, and he would be the first to admit it, his failures weren’t because of the example Charles gave. His failures were his and his alone.
Tony left the room. They knew where he was headed: for the chapel. To pray for his siblings. But Charles didn’t want him going anywhere alone, not even in the hospital.
“I’ll go with him,” Robert said, behaving like the chief of police everybody knew was just a stepping stone job for him, and followed his brother out.
Ashley was suddenly sitting on the couch alone, and she folded her arms around herself. Charles went and sat beside her. She leaned against him, and he placed his arm around her. He knew how close she and Donald were. He knew how alone she felt. He felt it too.
“What about Makayla and the children?” Jenay asked Mick and the Gabrinis.
“I sent my plane out of Vegas, with heavy security, to fetch them,” Reno said, “since they’re nearby in Arizona. They should be here by daybreak.”
Jenay nodded. “Thanks,” she said, grabbing her cellphone from the nightstand. “I know Makayla is a nervous wreck. I’ll text her with the news about Brent. The children should be sleep this time of night.”
As Jenay text away, the room returned to a quietness. It would be five minutes later when the door opened again, and Mick’s Security Chief walked in, spoke in hushed tones to Mick and the Gabrinis, and then left the room. The Gabrinis followed him out.
Mick looked at his brother. “You might want to come with us, Charles,” he said, as he was walking out, and Charles left Ashley’s side and went outside of the room too.
When he got outside, and saw Mick and the Gabrinis surrounding Trevor Reese, he was stunned. Did he talk? Did he tell them who was behind this craziness?
But when Trevor saw Charles, he left the group and hurried to him. The group, however, followed him.
“I need to see Carly,” Trevor said as soon as he walked up to Charles.
“I don’t give a fuck who you need to see,” Charles shot back.
And Trevor
thought Mick Sinatra was hard. He got it from somewhere, and probably from the man standing in front of Trevor. “I just want to make sure she’s okay,” Trevor said.
“He can help us, Big Daddy,” Tommy said.
Charles looked at Tommy. “Help us how?”
“He can take us to the man he works for, the man who gave him the kill list with our names on it.”
Charles was still unconvinced. He looked at Trevor. “Who do you work for?” he asked him.
“I need to see Carly first.”
Charles grabbed Trevor and flung him against the wall. Security began to run from the posts down the hall, but Mick and Sal called them off. “Who do you work for, gotdammit?” Charles asked. “Don’t fuck with me!”
“Giuseppe,” Trevor said. He was not accustomed to this kind of treatment. But if it would get him an audience with Carly, he’d endure it. “Mario Giuseppe hire me to do work for him.”
“And who is he?” Charles asked. “Some crime boss?”
“I wish,” Tommy said. “We can handle crime bosses. He’s C.I.A., Big Daddy,” he added.
Charles, however, continued to stare at Trevor. “C.I.A.?”
“I checked it out,” Tommy said. “He gave me the chain of command, and my men were able to verify every name in that chain. With Giuseppe as the head.”
Charles looked at Tommy. “You know this Giuseppe?”
“No,” Tommy said.
“None of us knows him,” Mick said. “Which makes Reese’s story even more plausible.”
But Charles still kept his grip on Trevor. “So you work for this guy? What does that mean? You’re C.I.A. too?”
“No,” Trevor said. “I’m hired to do work for the C.I.A. I’m an operative. I’m an independent contractor of services. Nothing more. Nothing less.”
“And what kind of work are we talking about?” Charles asked. “Assassin work? You kill people for a living?”
Big Daddy Sinatra: Papa Don't Play Page 10
